


fan art for Self Indulgence and the In the Dead of Night series

by Red Dragon (Red_Dragonn)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and Violence, Crying, Drowning, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Rape, be useful lmao. to someone . somewhere, im hoping these tags will like, its all just fan art, its literally all just fan art, like visual violence you can't not see it because these are DRAWINGS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 18:52:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18504994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Dragonn/pseuds/Red%20Dragon
Summary: exactly what it says on the tinOH FuCK hang on i didnt mention.this is NOT about my writing, this is about Nonymos's fic series which i would happily die for more of(i kinda figured that would be covered by saying 'inspired by' but like. cant hurt to be extra careful LOL)





	fan art for Self Indulgence and the In the Dead of Night series

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nonymos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Self-Indulgence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498194) by [Nonymos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos). 



> this bit is all sfw because like.... its in the ending of my Last Good Clean And Pure Sketchbook, which like has four pages left so i figured i might as well not sully it with dicks all over the place, haha  
> give me like half an hour and there will be needles poking through dicks, and suchlike
> 
> but i have Not yet Gotten There

 

this bit comes from the end of the first chapter, it's just this part:

 

> “Actually, you know what?” Clint said, and waited for the glint of terror in his eye to say, “We’re gonna do the questions now.”
> 
> “Please,” whispered Bakshi, exhausted, “please, I…”
> 
> “Just talking. It’s okay.” Clint sat on the bed and ran his fingers through Bakshi’s dark hair. “First of all, who knew about Insight?”
> 
> It only took twenty minutes to tear it all from him—his tells were obvious when he was shaking so hard. He tried to lie once or twice; Clint praised him for it—Bakshi was such a wreck it was a wonder he even bothered to try—then started again on his pressure points until he had him on the brink of shattering. He stuck his thumb inside him for the rest of the questioning, working his nail around the rim as he went on with the interrogation. Bakshi trembled and swallowed convulsively, thighs jerking every time Clint pressed further in. He answered all his questions.
> 
> When it was finally done, Clint leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”
> 
> He left the room just as he’d come, turning the screen opaque again on his way out.

 

I FUCKING LOVED THAT OK

* * *

ok this part??? FAVORITE PART OF THE WHOLE FIC?? I LOVE THIS PART??  **MORE THAN  LOVE LIFE ITSELF???????**

> The gloves were only there to impress, if Clint was being sincere. They were black latex, folded over his arm for now. That and the firetruck red basin he carried were his only additional tools for the day.
> 
> Bakshi was sitting on his bed, with his hands pressed between his thighs. He looked up at once when he heard the door open—he hadn’t gotten a single visit in four months. The phone in its case of Plexiglas was lying on his pillow.
> 
> When he saw it was Clint, he scrambled to his feet, struggling to conceal his fear and failing miserably. He’d stopped questioning Clint’s phone calls over the weeks, but his physical presence was something else entirely.
> 
> “Hey,” Clint said, crossing the barrier screen.
> 
> He set the basin on the floor with a loud clatter which sounded across the confined cell. Bakshi was slightly thinner, slightly paler; his dark eyes were red-rimmed, and his hair was dirty after months of sponge baths. He eyed the red basin warily, without a word, staying as far from Clint as the cramped room allowed.
> 
> Clint nonchalantly kicked the basin to the tap in the corner, and filled it with cold water; it took five long minutes, during which neither of them talked. Then he dragged the basin back to the middle of the room, with a loud scraping sound, until it was right under the light. It looked garish and eerie sitting there, with water still sloshing inside.
> 
> Bakshi was standing with his back to the wall and looked on the brink of hyperventilating. Clint had put on his full executioner outfit, black fatigues and heavy boots. The finale was always what he liked most.
> 
> “I wouldn’t stay over there if I were you,” Clint remarked. “You won’t get another chance.”
> 
> “Another chance at what?” Bakshi said, voice edging into hysteria.
> 
> “Coulson won't let you out. And I know you don’t have any cyanide capsules left.” He nodded at the red basin. “I stuck the cameras on a loop; we have a few minutes. Should be enough.”
> 
> Bakshi stared at the basin.
> 
> He didn’t even try to discuss Clint’s chosen method of execution. In fact, he seemed fascinated by the basin and what it promised, mesmerized by the light diffracted in the water. He had a taste for the dramatic, which captivity had not quite entirely stripped from him.
> 
> And he’d been kept in limbo for so long. He was desperate for it to end.
> 
> “Wanna be cuffed?” Clint offered. “It’ll help.”
> 
> Bakshi’s gaze snapped up at him. He looked utterly lost, shaking already. Clint’s casual tone helped, his voice helped—it was all he’d had for so long.
> 
> “I—”
> 
> “I’ve done this a few times,” Clint said. “Trust me, resolve doesn’t matter—you’re going to thrash a lot.”
> 
> Bakshi swallowed.
> 
> “I—” he repeated, gaze drawn to the bright red of the basin again. “I…” Something crumbled in his expression. “Alright.”
> 
> Clint hadn’t been sure he’d accept, and was careful not to smile, keeping his expression neutral, professional. “Good. Take off your shirt,” he instructed, “or it’s gonna get soaked.”
> 
> Bakshi obeyed as though in a daze. He was a bit less tan than before and the sparse freckles on his shoulders stood out all the more. After another long bout of hesitation, he crossed the room to go to Clint.
> 
> Clint gestured for him to turn round, then cuffed his hands in his back, drawing the bracelets very tight around the wrists. Bakshi’s breathing picked up a little.
> 
> Clint gave a little kick to the back of his legs. “Kneel down.”
> 
> He didn’t drag Bakshi to the basin, just put a hand on his neck to guide him and let him shuffle on his own towards it, scraping his knees on the rough cement. When they got to it, Bakshi was trembling. He caught sight of his own reflection in the water and closed his eyes.
> 
> “It’s going to take you two or three minutes to lose consciousness,” Clint said, putting on his gloves and making the latex snap. “Seven to drown completely. Not gonna be very pleasant.”
> 
> Bakshi swallowed. Clint grabbed his hair with one gloved hand, and put the other on his shoulder.
> 
> “It’s okay,” he said.
> 
> Then he plunged him into the water.
> 
> Bakshi’s whole body shook—the cold, no doubt. He did his best to keep still afterwards. Clint pressed firmly onto the back of his head, pushing it whole underwater; his muscles were bunching in his back, his skin pebbling with goosebumps.
> 
> His chest quivered in small fluttering jerks as he tried to hyperventilate but blocked his own impulse to breathe. He wasn’t going to last long. It was a few dozen seconds before he started bucking uncontrollably, tugging against Clint’s hold; Clint increased the weight onto his head, knowing how merciless the contact of the latex gloves could feel. He put his knee in the middle of Bakshi’s back in preparation for what would come.
> 
> After another dozen seconds, Bakshi started struggling in earnest, jerkily at first, then with unbidden violence, legs kicking desperately and head straining against Clint’s hand. Clint waited for him to inhale a first gulp of water before he let him come up.
> 
> Bakshi sucked in a hoarse, grating breath, and dissolved into a coughing fit, choking and retching. Clint tightened his grip on his hair, forcefully dragged him back above the sloshing surface.
> 
> “Sorry about that,” he said. “For good this time.”
> 
> He shoved Bakshi’s head underwater again.
> 
> Bakshi bucked under his weight, fighting against the handcuffs. Clint kept him down for almost a minute; by the end of it, he had to use all his weight to keep him in place. When he let Bakshi come up again, Bakshi retched and sobbed and desperately tried to scramble away from the basin, blind and dumb with panic. He kicked it in his flailing, but it was so full of water it barely moved away.
> 
> “Shh,” Clint said. “It’s okay. Let’s go again.”
> 
> He dragged Bakshi by his hair to the water, making him scramble forward; Bakshi was too weak to resist, but by the time he got there, he managed to suck in a breath and cry out, “No more—stop—please!”
> 
> Clint brought him roughly over the surface. “This is what you wanted,” he said, pressing down. “For the glory of Hydra. Right?”
> 
> “Please,” Bakshi begged frantically, “please—I don’t… I don’t…”
> 
> Clint fisted his soaked hair and twisted harshly. “You’re gonna have to say it out loud, Sunil.” He shook him.  _“Say it.”_
> 
> “I don’t want to die,” Bakshi screamed. “I don’t want to die!”
> 
> Clint roughly let him go; Bakshi collapsed on the floor, and broke down into ugly, shameful sobs that wracked his whole frame. Even during the rape, he hadn’t cried with such abandon.
> 
> Clint allowed himself a little smile. He took off his gloves, then crouched next to him and put a hand on his shaking shoulders.
> 
> “Shh,” Clint said, rubbing circles into the skin. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s over.”
> 
> He dragged Bakshi close and held him. Bakshi was cold and wet, soaking Clint’s shirt, shaking desperately in his arms. Clint kissed his freckled shoulders and let him cry.

THANK YOU. FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE. I LOVE WATERBOARDING AND DROWNING SO MUCH HSHDHSDHSHSDH AND THIS WAS JUST. [chef hand kiss] SO GOOD so good SO  **good** i LOVED it and i am going to probably draw ti like ten more times before i close this like... chronologue of fan art lmao

* * *

last one for today

this is as NSFW as i dare go in my non-NSFW sketchbook that my family likes to look in 

anyway its Clint raping Sunil, like in this bit, and im doing an JSDHFSKDFKSDH still because  _jdsfjdsafhdfskkjdfshdfs sdfhdfskdsfkskshdsk shdsfkdskdsh its so good_

> Bakshi had been tested since the beginning of his detainment, and Clint knew he was clean; Bakshi didn’t know the same of Clint—but didn’t have to. He flinched when Clint grabbed his ass again, then tried to fight back when two slick fingers started to press in.
> 
> “God,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “no, no no no,  _please—”_ he swallowed down the rest and scowled when Clint breached him.
> 
> “Try to relax,” Clint said. “I don’t think you  _can,_ but it’s worth a shot.”
> 
> Bakshi jerked under him; Clint slammed him into the wall and pushed his fingers deeper in. Bakshi let out a desperate whine. His breaths were so quick and so shallow Clint wondered if any oxygen was making it through. When he twisted his fingers inside him, Bakshi scrambled for purchase against the wall, handcuffs jingling.
> 
> “I can’t,” he started babbling feverishly, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, please, stop, please, God—”
> 
> “It’s okay. Just take a deep breath.” Clint started pumping his fingers in and out, slowly, dragging them against his rim. Bakshi actually sucked in a sharper breath and squared his shoulders, willing himself to get through this, although he was still blinking tears out of his eyes. Decision to endure, part two; check.
> 
> Clint nudged his legs further open and freed himself from his underwear. He was aching a little after such a build-up. Bakshi’s resolve crumbled all at once when he felt Clint nudge his way in.
> 
> “No,” he started sobbing, “no, no,” he gasped and pressed his forehead to the wall, clenching his jaw and screwing his eyes shut, hot tears running down his cheeks,  _“fuck,”_ when Clint forced his way in.
> 
> Anal sex was always better with a bit of active resistance, even if it meant working for it. Bakshi was very much trying to resist; Clint made him take inch after inch, unhurried but firm. Bakshi’s body was tan and gleaming with sweat beneath the shredded paper, all his muscles bunching and cording under the skin. Clint could have eaten him alive if he hadn’t been already at it.
> 
> “There,” Clint said, pressing further in. Bakshi was scowling, breathing harsh and shaky, tears rolling down. “Shh,” Clint said, fully seating himself in with a final thrust. “Hey, calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”

im just gonna say it again

_kshdsjhdsJSHSDJSDJDSJSJh **SJDSJFHSDFHSDJSJ**_

* * *

That's all for now but please. Please know. There will be more to come. 

 

I  _can't_ not draw Clint holding his gun to Murdock's head and telling him to put the needles in himself. I gotta. I can't not. 

But i need to find my NSFW sketchbook for that and I don't remember exactly where i hid it, so it might be a couple hours, lmao


End file.
